


Restless Heart Syndrome

by mandywritesfiction



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: And I'm sure this will change at some point, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm just going on a guess here based on what I tend to write for Clawen, Sexual Content, So there will likely be sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6658225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandywritesfiction/pseuds/mandywritesfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts and other short drabbles dedicated to Claire Dearing and Owen Grady, based within the Jurassic World universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who Do You Love

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just so this is known, I started this second collection for Clawen simply because it's going to be the place I will store all of the prompts and other drabbles that I write for Clawen within the JW!verse, whereas Nine To Survival Job (while it will not disappear) will be for any prompt that I write outside of the JW verse (BTL, Homefront, etc.) I know, I'm confusing as fuck, but take me or leave me, baby. The first chapter in this collection will be where they start from, meaning it talks of the starting point for Clawen for this verse that I all ready hold so dearly to my heart. So pay close attention, okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response for “Stay there, I’m coming to get you” from One Hundred Ways to say ‘I love you’ (no longer accepting) and forehead and throat kisses from the list of different kisses, both submitted by anonymous.

Owen wasn’t sure  _what_  made the night feel so strange, but he knew something wasn’t right. Maybe it was the fact that he’d fallen asleep on the couch only to wake up with a screaming kink in his neck or, when he looked over at the digital clock beside the TV to see it blinking at nearly one in the morning, as far as he could tell Claire hadn’t made it home. It wouldn’t have bothered him nearly as much if she’d called, and the thought came just as he peered down at his phone. No text, no call, no Claire. 

“Uncle Owen?” The sleepy voice rounded the corner as he sat up in time to see a teetering Clementine staggering towards him, both fists balled against her eyes in attempt to rub the sleep from her features with no success. The four year old didn’t hesitate in climbing onto the couch to sit beside him, but it wasn’t until a minute later when she was leaning against his chest, an arm wrapped around his side, the other held to her lips with her thumb jammed inside her mouth. Before he could question what had woken the girl up — considering how it was late enough into the night — he heard the gentle sounds coming from her. Of course now she had decided to fall back asleep. Unable to blame her, Owen took it in stride and sat back on the couch with her curled to his chest and pulled a blanket on top of them. He would carry her back to bed once he decided to get up, which would ultimately be when Claire called to explain herself. So help him if she decided to stay the night at Vivian’s.

He never had a problem with Claire leaving for the night and asking him to watch over Cleo. It was a silent pact they’d had when they first met, years before the incident on the island. She was climbing up the ranks at Jurassic World just as she got pregnant with someone she thought she could trust only to discover that he’d fled the duties of being a parent the moment he found out. Despite only being friends, Owen stepped in; he helped to finish the nursery inside her tenth floor apartment, attended the lamaze classes with Claire, all despite Claire claiming he didn’t have to.  _‘I know I don’t have to, but what if I want to?’_  Flash-forward nine months and suddenly they were co-parenting. Owen had graciously accepted the guest bedroom, leaving his bungalow to sit, visiting and cleaning up when he could, and overnight his focus changed and the two most important things in his world became the two girls in it. His world had changed and he was partially responsible for raising a child; he wouldn’t have it any other way. Their friendship began to blossom from that point, slowly transforming from Owen sleeping in the guest bedroom to the rocking chair in the corner of hers, to eventually sleeping beside each other, curled in the other’s embrace. 

At some point he drifted off again only to wake up to the phone ringing which sounded like hyenas screeching in the midst of the night. Without disturbing the sleeping girl curled up against his chest, Owen slowly reached to the coffee table and grabbed his phone, thumbing the screen before cradling it to his ear. “Owen?” The distress in her voice was evident before he even had the chance to ream her about her whereabouts; their agreement had been shaken on. He would watch Clementine while she went out for ‘girl’s night’. Her excuse?  _‘It’s the first time since Cleo’s birth.’_ Which was a terrible lie. Clearly the weekend before had slipped her mind. He couldn’t think past her panic-stricken voice and slowly nudged Cleo onto the couch as he slipped from the cushions, walking into the kitchen as to keep his voice down. “What’s wrong, Claire? Where are you?” 

Chatter could be heard in the background, anything unlike being at Vivian’s  _house_. Something about paging a doctor, or ambulance sirens… was she hurt? “I’m at the hospital but I can’t—“  _The hospital?_  What the fuck happened? His mind took off on a dozen different paths all that led to one final diagnosis, despite Claire preaching that she wasn’t hurt. “Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

* * *

It may not have been the easiest on his heart to wake Clementine up from the peaceful sleep, but once he was able to grab a pair of slippers — ones that were made to look like she was wearing a bunny on each foot — and get her into her booster seat, Owen drove like a (careful) maniac to get to the county hospital. He tried to avoid each of Cleo’s pleas to tell her why they were going to the hospital, simply because he didn’t want to _lie_  and say Claire was okay only to show up and she not be; it was just like Claire to try and withhold information so he wouldn’t worry, but instead it had the opposite effect. Clementine began to tear up and, before he knew it, she was sobbing crocodile tears all because he wouldn’t talk to her. 

Aside from nearly forgetting Clementine in the backseat when he pulled up to the ER entrance, Owen left the car for valet and grabbed the pouting, terrified four year old. Cleo wrapped both arms around his neck and buried her face in the crook of his neck, claiming she didn't want to look around when they entered the building. Owen charged towards the first nurse he could find, claiming he was there for Claire Dearing, but once the nurse checked their records to claim the only time they’d seen a woman of the same name was two years prior due to a hand laceration after the attack of the dinosaurs on the island. 

“Owen?” He whirled around at the sound of her tarnished voice and searched for her in the small patch of patients sitting in the waiting area. There was a man with a bloodied towel held to his forehead, and another woman with fiery red hair who was staring down into her lap. Owen began walking towards her before the flash of scarlet moving towards him from the side caught his eye and he glanced over to see her. Trails of tears stained her cheeks and her eyes were bloodshot, causing her emerald orbs to seem brighter in the most daunting of circumstances. He took a silent inventory as she sauntered towards him. Ten fingers, no visible injuries to her face, but he zeroed in on the thick strip that stood out against the pale skin of her neck. Owen moved closer until he could get a hand around her waist, pulling her closer, cautiously seeking out the back of her neck to slide his fingers through her hair. “What happened?” 

Claire reached out to gently rest her hand against Clementine’s back, rubbing a soft circle alone her spine but didn’t dare ask to hold her; she could  _feel_  Owen’s laser-sharp gaze burning a hole through her skin. He didn’t want to have to ask again, but he would’ve if she tempted fate with withholding why he was in the goddamn emergency room to pick her up. “Viv was driving me home because I didn’t want to not be home in the morning when Cleo wakes up. You know how she was the last time.” Owen didn’t need a reminder; the first, and only time Claire had missed a Sunday morning breakfast, Clementine refused to talk to her for the rest of the day and used Owen as an in-between to talk to Claire. “We were only minutes away when she slumped over the wheel and started seizing. Luckily, I was able to shift the car into neutral, and we slowed at the base of the hill just before the apartment, but we hit a tree going about thirty miles an hour.” Owen winced at the details but soon reached forward and stroked his thumb across her cheek bone. He didn’t need to ask about Vivian as Claire provided the information; she’d had a non-epileptic seizure, the cause unknown at the time. “Have you been cleared by a doctor?” He didn’t exactly want to be unkind to Vivian’s distress and injuries, but his primary focus was making sure his girl was fine, too. 

Rest and intervals of icing her neck were the doctor’s orders and, before either knew it, they were in the car on their way back home. Owen gently squeezed Claire’s hand as it rested on her thigh, soon lacing their fingers together just so he could continue to remind himself that she was alive. Claire was quick to remind him that she was okay, that she had hardly sustained minor injuries, and with a solid night’s sleep, she’d be better than before. He wasn’t going to accept it. Ushered upstairs with strict orders of getting out of her clothes and into something comfortable, Owen soon followed with Cleo gathered in his arms, her sleep never once disturbed throughout the ordeal. Not that he could claimed to be surprised; Clementine had only been an infant when the dinosaurs ran rampant on the island and was home with the nanny (who was no longer) and never once woke through the hours of torture, screams, the sirens that rang across the small isle. Once Cleo was settled into bed, complete with the sheet tucked beneath her chin, Owen backed out of the room and closed the door until only a sliver of light dipped inside the room. 

“Owen?” Like a flashback from when he was furious to seek her in the ER waiting room, he turned on his heels to see Claire standing at the end off the hallway just in front of the threshold to their bedroom, one hand pressing an ice pack to the nape of her neck as the other clutched the material of his shirt that hung loose over her stomach. “Come ‘ere,” he breathed, stepping closer and expanding his arms around her waist until she was held tightly to his chest. There were no words to explain how his heart had raced when she didn’t come home, and when he saw her standing alone in the hospital, words weren’t needed for the fear that stained her cheeks. “Are you feeling okay?” He breathed the words against her temple, unable to stop kissing the crown of her head and forehead, keeping his lips tucked to her skin for long enough to let the lavender and mint aroma of her shampoo invade him. Owen reached between them to slide his hand beneath her shirt, gently skimming his hand across her stomach; she wasn’t yet showing, but they’d known for two months already. Albeit, Cleo still was unaware, but that was for another day. They didn’t exactly hide the fact that they slept in the same room together, and they both knew Clementine was smarter than the average four year old. “Did they do an ultrasound? Or a test to make sure you’re still—“ 

Claire reached for his hand before she led him into their room, not stopping to turn the light on. He took a split second to yank his shirt off and tossed it to the floor before they both climbed into bed on their respected side and met in the middle of the luscious mattress that felt like a cloud had formed underneath them. “You,” Claire breathed, curling beside him with a leg draped across his, “are going to be the bane of my existence.” Owen scoffed at the faux-insult and rolled his eyes, withstanding her effect. He breathed her name as a warning to not work herself up; the sun was merely an hour from rising and if they had any chance of waking up to Cleo’s morning-chant (which consisted of a mix between Barney and Dora) he needed at least an hour. Claire countered with the request of gentle kisses, complaining that the ice was far too cold for her skin and he had always healed her in the past, why couldn’t he now? “I don’t have those abilities now that you’re my Achilles’ Heel.” 

Claire laughed and moved in closer to press her lips against his bare chest, kissing gently across the tattoo that served as a promise of his days in the Navy;  _non sibi sed patriae_. Not self but country. It was her job to comfort, while he was the protector. Never had Claire been gentle or let her icy heart melt throughout her life until she met Owen; until she had Cleo. Morphing into a mother had changed her in ways she would’ve never imagined herself exploring. She committed to trailing her lips to the base of his throat, nipping gently at his skin as she mumbled against the jut in his throat. “I can’t hear you,” he strained to breathe the words, cupping his hand at the back of her neck. 

As Claire tipped her head back to glance at him, a genuine smile took over, filling her features from ear to ear. Was this what it felt like to finally know the person you’re with is the one for life? Was this a dream? Was this some evil trick her mind was playing on her?

“I—I said that I love you." 

* * *

As always, I owe everything to those of you who make up my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @the-clawen-pamphlet, @cometothedarkside-x, @wonderrbat, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @senatorrorgana, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all--the--dancers, @batmansgirlwonder, @dealingdreams, @dinosaurswowenough, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.


	2. The Breakfast Fiasco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response for “I’m fine” and “I will if you will” from this list (no longer accepting), requested by the ever lovely (and talented) @cometothedarkside-x. Thank you so much for these and I hope I didn’t butcher them. Also, I’m sorry for how terribly short this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so unfathomably in love with this AU that it’s stupidly ridiculous; it’s sorta all that I can think about at the moment, to be quite honest.

“For the last time, I am  _fine_.” Claire sidled past her boyfriend as he blocked the entrance into the kitchen, grasping a coffee mug in his hands. Sure, he’d known from when they were only friends that Claire would never be a morning bird and, without coffee, she went from being his girlfriend to the Wicked Witch’s twin sister. “Claire, come on! We decided—”

She turned harshly on her heel and shook a finger at him. “No, Owen, there was no we because you are drinking coffee! What was it you told me? ‘ _I will if you will, Claire_ ’. Weren’t those your exact words?” Was it obvious that she was the slightest bit upset with the turn around in his promise? Claire had asked him to come along to the obstetrician appointment she had earlier in the week after figuring it would be a nice way to spend a day off together—even if she now regretted it—and at the first mention of ‘ _no caffeine_ ’, he flipped, ratted her out to the doctor, and since has been hounding her. It didn’t exactly help when he talked to his sister Maxine on the night after the ultrasound appointment, in which she freely gave him information she’d found on WebMD. Claire had yet to thank her for that. 

“Momma?” Clementine stood in the corner, her thumb jammed in her mouth, kicking her foot back and forth against the floorboard. It was early Saturday morning and far too early for her daughter to be up, but it wasn’t much of a surprise. Claire’s gaze fell to the girl’s wild curls as a soft laugh slipped from her; she was thankful that Cleo took after her in that department—and most others—but couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt that, one day, she’d realize those curls would break many hairbrushes. “Why are you and Uncle Owen fighting?” Her voice fell to a mere whisper as she avoided their gaze, falling to the floor instead. It as a rare day that voices rose above laughter, or excitement, and while she was only four years old, Cleo was smarter than the average toddler. Not to mention nervous. Claire had long since realized that Clementine had the slightest tendency to panic. When she didn’t pick her up from daycare at exactly three-thirty, or if Owen forgot to pack her favorite snack: bananas and pineapple. There was hell to pay. 

Owen broke away from their conversation and set his mug on the counter before he kneeled down to Clementine’s level, smiling softly at the tousled girl. “We weren’t fighting,” he breathed, reaching forward to rest a hand on her shoulder. “We were talking about icky grown-up things.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Holding his arms out for Clementine, he waited until she walked into his embrace and he stood, lifting her with him. “How about we make some breakfast?” The offer was solid and Cleo jumped at the chance, clapping her hands together before she reached out, resting a hand on either side of Owen’s face to squeeze his cheeks and lips together, making silly and ridiculous faces. “What we make?” She cocked her head to the side and giggled, shaking her head when he offered up boring choices; cereal, oatmeal, toast. Yet, when he got to  _pancakes_ , the kid wouldn’t stop from cheering. “With  _boo-berries_ , too?”

Even if she had wanted to intervene and correct Owen and fill her daughter in on the secret, she knew the bond they had was unstoppable; Clementine would believe Owen over her own mother any day. Claire quietly slipped away from his side and leaned back against the counter, pressing one hand against the marble-top and resting the other against her stomach. She wasn’t far enough along to make it known to the rest of the world, and for now she loved that it was their surprise; granted, Clementine would be the next to discover the truth behind Claire’s new—and odd—cravings for food. Claire watched Owen as he ‘ _taught_ ’ Cleo how to make the pancakes; stirring in the right amount of each ingredient, and laughter filled the apartment when Clementine ended up dropping twice as much blueberries than the recipe called for. 

At the end of the day, she knew this would be a crazy, hectic mess, but she loved her life, their life, and wouldn’t trade it for the world.

* * *

 

As always, I owe everything to those of you who make up my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @the-clawen-pamphlet, @cometothedarkside-x, @wonderrbat, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @senatorrorgana, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all--the--dancers, @batmansgirlwonder, @dealingdreams, @dinosaurswowenough, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.


	3. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response for “where did you get those bruises?” and “Person A of your OTP is seriously injured and Person B has to tend to their wounds”, both submitted by anonymous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dear anonymous who requested the latter half of the prompt asked for a trigger warning if there is a death included and I can proudly say there is not a death (I learned once that killing Owen and forgetting to put the TW was not very kind, and I’m still paying for it) of our lovely OTP. Once again, I am falling head over heels in love with this verse, and it’s most likely because of sweet Clementine. I know, once upon a time, I said I pictured Claire without children, but I adore that Clementine is not Owen’s biological child and I had to run with it. So there’s that.

The dark aroma of coffee filtered into their bedroom underneath the closed door and, even before Claire opened her eyes, she knew Owen was all ready awake, most likely dressed, and starting his day. And, if she was lucky, Cleo was awake and sitting in the living room, likely with Saturday morning cartoons on tv. Granted, it was Barry’s weekend to patrol at the paddock, but that never stopped Owen from finding something around the bungalow to do. Screw around with his bike, find new and inventive ways to show off his physique without picking up a single weight, or take Clementine out for a walk so she wouldn’t wake her mother. After they’d tucked Clementine into bed the night before, she hadn’t heard him crawl into bed, thanks to the angry rain. For most, they’d say the rain hitting the metal roof of the overhand covering the back decking was relaxing, but she could think of a few  _other_ descriptions. 

There was something that felt off, but Claire wasn’t putting it past the fact that she hated waking up alone. Most mornings Clementine would sneak into bed and curl between them, nuzzling her way through the bundle of sheets and twisted limbs. Maybe it was the lingering side-effects of the incident, or the eeriness it left tingling across her body; after five years, she still wasn’t able to sleep soundly. There was a moment every time she woke that Claire had to question  _where_  she was before the familiarity of his hands draped over her stomach, or his lips pressed against her neck brought her back to reality. Without him, what was meant to be a routine morning the three shared together seemed  _off_.

It wasn’t long before Claire slipped her legs from beneath the sheets and tugged his discarded sweatshirt over her head before digging through the drawers for a pair of elastic-waisted pants. There was something to be said about being pregnant and, despite the fact that there was hardly a bump made of her stomach, anything elastic helped in the nausea. “Mamma?” The small voice called to her from the door, tears invading her tone as Cleo used the back of her hand to swipe at the tears that had welled. Claire turned on her heel at the sound of her voice and bent over, reaching out for Cleo, successfully capturing the toddler’s attention. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes darted across the girl’s short frame to take stock of her daughter, ensuring she was still in one piece with no injuries. “It’s Owen,” she whined. 

Claire didn’t wait another second until she stepped across the room and into the threshold, only to see an alarming sight, complete with Clementine beginning to tragically sob. Standing in the kitchen with both hands perched on the counter-top, her eyes flashed to the blue and green bruises and small abrasions scattered across his upper back, spanning across his shoulder blades and down to his ribs on either side. If she wouldn’t have been completely overwhelmed by the sight, Claire would’ve sworn it were a map of the world tattooed into his skin, except the ink was swirling together into continents of purple and blue, dotted by marks that would, eventually, mark their travels.

“Jesus, Owen, where did you get those fucking bruises?” Claire wasn’t aware that Clementine had followed her into the kitchen, and clearly he hadn’t heard the door open, or the soft sounds of their feet brushing over the wooden floors, but when he whipped around with such precision, Owen couldn’t stop the loud groan from slipping past his lips, or the way his features contorted and unmasked his pain. He opened and closed his mouth several times without words forming and, when he seemed exhausted of it, Claire stepped forward. She held both hands up in defense as a silent claim, and promise, that she wouldn’t touch him; although, she couldn’t promise the same from the ice pack kept in the freezer. “Cleo, baby, will you go grab the first-aid kit for Mamma?” Once her daughter had left the vicinity of the kitchen and was most certainly out of ear-shot, Claire hissed beneath her breath but merely stared at him. “I, uh, I got into a slight accident this morning.”

“You call this a  _slight_  accident? You look like one of the girls got ahold of you and tossed you around a bit before deciding to pardon you from the death penalty.” Claire reached out to cup his jaw in the palm of her hand and lifted his gaze. It didn’t need to be said; she knew his bike was totaled, ad she couldn’t exactly find the space to care until she knew he would be okay. The bike was a death trap—she’d told him that until she was blue in the lips—and hated every minute that he left the house on it. Having it gone and out of the picture was just another mark to check off her list of ways he could die and she couldn’t save him. “How bad’s the pain?” 

He’d always been a tough guy; during his time in the Navy, when he’d been shot in the thigh, he went three days without it being discovered by others, and that was only when he was shot in the shoulder and forced to see a medic. Granted, he was threatened by the on-site surgeon that an infection could have killed him, but that was who Owen was; he wasn’t going to sob over a small wound. And this? Fucking road rash, complete with gravel in the wounds, it fucking hurt. The way he skidded across the ground—his shirt slipping up to expose bare skin that the gravel tore into with pleasure—he was nothing compared to watching her face fall, her lips forming a frown that would burn itself into his memory for an eternity. “I don’t know,” he grumbled, closing his eyes, “a four?” 

Claire scoffed at him and leaned in to press her lips to his collar bone, whimpering when he tensed. “Tell me the truth, Owen, or I swear to God I’ll call an ambulance faster than you can—” Claire jumped when Clementine came charging into the room, bear-hugging the first-aid kit, holding it out for her mom. “Here, Mamma, I found it under the toilet!” Clearly, she meant under the sink, but Claire couldn’t help but to laugh softly while thanking her daughter. Cleo stood quietly behind Claire, almost tripping her mother more than once before Claire suggested coloring in the living room while she helped Owen; there were zero problems as Clementine loved to color. Owen groaned and his shoulders fell as he silently gave into her threats. There was no way in hell he would let her laid him into the bed of an ambulance go to the fucking hospital. Not only would it bring back memories, but he wasn’t going to put Clementine through seeing that, either. “Eight and a half, nine would be pushing it.” 

There was nothing more she wanted to do than to be close to him, but Claire couldn’t give herself the time to process what he was telling her; she was in emergency mode and the adrenaline was rushing through her, a tide racing to pound against the shore, only to begin again. Instead, she gingerly reached out for his hand and nodded silently towards their bedroom; a silent plea to let her take care of him for once. “Go lay down, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Once he obliged and they parted ways, Claire firmly gripped the counter until her knuckles turned white, and not even she heard Cleo behind her until the girl was tugging at her sweater. “Mamma, is Uncle Owen going to be okay?” Her heart froze and breathing ceased as she tried desperately to not think about the events they were still having nightmares about. There were nights she laid in bed, hearing the screams of those who were hunted by the monsters that took control o the island. No, _they_  were the monsters;  _they_ had created the animals and, as much as she wanted to protect Cleo from it, she knew her daughter would one day find out. She shook herself out of the debilitating fog and turned to meet Clementine’s gaze, kneeling down in front of the girl as she grasped for her hands, “I promise, he’s going to be okay, but right now I need you to go in the living room and sit quietly, can you do that for me?” As much as she may have wanted to throw a tantrum, possibly even drop to the floor with sorrow for the man who had been there since her birth, but even Cleo was wise enough to know when she couldn’t get away with something. As much as she tried to shake the lingering thoughts of what her life would be if he hadn’t survived, if she had woken up to an empty house, her daughter on the couch alone, Claire took them back into their bedroom, not bothering to close the door as she knew her body would block Cleo’s view if she did come into the room. Her gaze dropped to Owen, sprawled in the middle of their bed, his arms folded with his head resting on clutched fists. He created the epitome of pain.. Once she could handle the fact that she would ultimately make it worse before it improved, she stepped towards him and dropped the kit to the mattress before she slid next to him. “Hey,” she whispered, leaning over to nuzzle her nose against his cheek, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked if  _you_  were okay long before I jumped to conclusions.” 

He didn’t speak, and if Claire hadn’t known better she would’ve assumed he had fallen asleep. But she did; she knew him better than she knew herself most days. Instead, she slowly slid her hand to his arm, making sure she wasn’t touching any of the split skin, and began to gently rub circles against his muscles all while mumbling soft, mostly incoherent words. The art of distraction wasn’t one she had aced—unless it involved taking clothes off—but she was praying to whatever god that it would be enough. 

It was some time before Owen spoke, clearing his throat as he turned his head, keeping on cheek pressed firmly against the sheets. Claire hadn’t asked him to go into detail of what had happened, but if he didn’t talk about it, he knew he’d go crazy, or take it out on the wrong person. “I came to a stop at the light at the end of the road, you know which one I’m talking about? Right before you get to the resort.” Careful not to move too much, he sighed when he saw her nod, hating himself for the permanent grimace that had turned her once glowing smile into contorted pain. “It had just turned green and as I was crossing the intersection, this car comes out of nowhere. I don’t know how I didn’t see it, but they swiped the back tire and I went skidding across the road.” Claire took it as her chance to help him as he continued to talk. She made her movements slow, reaching for the alcohol pads carefully as she ripped it open, but she didn’t miss the moment that he reached over and gripped her knee as his nails dug into her flesh. But she couldn’t feel the pain; she wouldn’t let herself when he was being drug through the gutter of it all. Luckily enough, there wasn’t enough debris in the cuts to warrant needing a hospital, even if she was no doctor, but she knew Owen would never agree to it—and they had no tranquilizers in the house. 

“The only two people on my mind were you and Cleo, Claire. I don't know what I would do if I was the reason she lost someone in her life, and I never want to do anything to jeopardize it again.” He turned his gaze to her, shaking his head. “What about me?” She breathed, touching her lips to the point of his shoulder, kissing across a small abrasion in his skin. It was a ridiculous question, one that sounded self-centered the more she thought about it. “You are the most important thing in my life, you know that.” Not minding the pain, he rolled onto his side and with a sharp exhale reached out to pull her closer. “Owen—“ Claire protested but was quickly silenced with a gentle kiss as he dropped a hand to her stomach. “I’m giving up my bike, for now, because if there is anything that taught me it was the simple fact that I am not leaving my three girls behind. Or my two girls and a boy.” Quiet laughter filled the room but was soon interrupted with a soft knock at the door. Claire turned to peer over her shoulder at Clementine, clutching both hands in front of her waist, her gaze directed at the floor. “Mamma…” 

Owen was the first to call her forward, patting the small space between them, knowing the girl would find a way to wiggle her way between; she was a pro at it, now. She teetered over to the side of the bed and, with Claire’s help, pounced onto the mattress before she was able to settle between them. In her most charming of ways, Cleo reaching up to cup his face in her hands, noticing the tears in his eyes as sadness and not the ones of joy they usually shared when they were ‘ _wrestling_ ’ on the floor after he came home from ‘dino duty’ as she so loved to call it. “You be all right, Daddy—“ she paused when the word effortlessly slipped from her, a subconscious thought of the way she thought of Owen. The smile that coated his features spoke a thousand words as he felt the joy light up his chest. Here was this bundle of pure, untouched joy; she hadn’t been marked by the evils of the world, and in her eyes, as long as the three of them were able to sleep in on the weekends, life was dandy. And now, now she had called him ‘daddy’ and he swore his life purpose had never been more clear. “I promise, Cleo, I will be just fine.” 

“You are family, and you _have_  to be okay,” she pleaded until he coaxed her quiet with a gentle kiss to her forehead. Slowly, he reached to wrap his arm around Claire’s waist, pulling her in closer until he could kiss her forehead, too. “We’re all going to be just fine.”

* * *

 

As always, I owe everything to those of you who make up my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @the-clawen-pamphlet, @cometothedarkside-x, @wonderrbat, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @senatorrorgana, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all--the--dancers, @batmansgirlwonder, @dealingdreams, @dinosaurswowenough, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.


	4. High on Loving You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response for “cold coffee: sweet kisses and tired eyes; our muses wake up next to each other, in a tangle of limbs, the sun peaking slightly through the window...but they don't get up, it's much too comfortable in each other's arms” from the romancy drabble list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mega fluff alert ahead. You’ve been warned. Also I’m sorry because I wrote this tonight in like an hour and wanted to post it before bed, so it’s likely to be trash.

“Claire, the coffee is getting cold…” Owen mumbled against her shoulder, kissing her velvety skin as the aroma of mint and lavender absorbed into his senses, permanently burying itself in his memory, as if it hadn’t been there before. He loved the lazy mornings they were able to spend in bed together; they didn’t happen often, and it was a rare morning where they didn’t wake up with Clementine wedged between them. Even their daughter suffered from nightmares, ones of a different kind. Just before Claire had tucked Cleo into bed the night before, promising she would send Owen in once he came home, she admitted to Claire about how she had hurt a girl’s feelings the previous day. While she didn’t want her daughter to think it was okay to upset others, in the same beat she wanted to comfort her daughter. It hadn’t exactly happened. By the time Owen got home two hours later, Clementine was still in such distress as she laid against Claire’s chest, relying on her mother to calm her. He hadn’t hesitated in joining the two girls on the couch and reaching over to gently stroke Cleo’s back, adding a soft kiss to her head every now and then. Eventually she fell asleep with her head on Claire’s chest and her legs in Owen’s lap, her small features contorted with the anxiety of sleep. Thankfully, she’d spent the entire night sleeping in her own bed, yet Claire couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt for having such a thought. She loved Clementine and had a soft spot for the girl, but sometimes she needed time with Owen to herself. Was that so terrible? 

His lips crossed her collarbone as he left open-mouthed kisses on her skin that whispered meaningless threats of devouring her much before breakfast had even been thought of. “Baby?” His gentle voice tugged her from the reverie as her eyes snapped open and searched for his. He was home to her, a definition that was not newfound by any means, but it was always nice to have a reminder; the mornings stood as the only reminder she would ever need. Stuck between the sun rising over the hill and shining in through their bedroom window and the moment they would inevitably have to remove themselves from bed, Claire rolled onto her side and scooted closer to him, half stuck in a dream of sorts. “What’s stuck on your mind?” 

Claire shrugged and closed her eyes; it was easier to lie when she wasn’t forced to look at him. It was easier to lie when she wasn’t talking to him, period.  There were days she wished she could just disappear, and they were usually the days when the thoughts were so overwhelming; five years and she still thought about the fateful day of the park. Claire was convinced that their best option would be to move off the island; return to the states, start over in a new city where no one knew their names. They’d be closer to his sister, Maxine, in Texas, and undoubtedly closer to Karen, too. There would be time for family that wouldn’t include sixteen hours worth of flights, layovers, and shuttles to and from airports. “I want to move,” she breathed suddenly, the words escaping with a gust of air from her lungs. They hung in the silence as she feared opening her eyes; would this be the moment they would begin to disagree on how to raise Cleo? Would they both have a different plan for the toddler and the baby they had on the way? 

Claire had never been a fan of silence. Silence formed nagging thoughts and bitter words, both of which would grow to be regretted at some point. Yet, in this moment, his silence wasn’t a ‘ _No, what the hell are you thinking?_ ’ They’d never talked about moving; what would they do? Where would they find jobs? Yet, Claire could not care less about the worries at the tip of her tongue; she wanted off the island that, one day, would prove to be wrong for their family. “Well, where do you want to go?” 

Unsure that she’d heard him correctly, her eyes snapped open to stare into his crystal blue orbs, swallowing thickly as she reached for his waist and a knot began to form in her throat. He wasn’t being serious. She searched his lips for a quirked smirk only to find a gentle smile, one open to suggestion. “Are you serious?” The possibilities were endless. A city would be great; Clementine would learn about the train system and how unpredictable public transportation could be. In the heart of Chicago was the zoo, a place her daughter would grow to love different breeds of wild animals. Yet, after living on the island for ten years and working with the park and Masrani Global, how could they leave? “I want Cleo to grow up where the seasons change and I want her to experience a life where there isn’t the threat of dinosaurs escaping.” 

Owen rolled onto his stomach before he pushed himself up to his knees, hovering over the woman he was lucky enough to call his. “How long has this been building, Claire?” The only answer he received was the slightest shrug and a mumbled number, one he didn’t have the heart to ask her to repeat; it was obvious enough the thoughts had plagued her for long enough. He didn’t want to be the reason she gave up what she thought was best, but she respected her decision to talk to him about it, first. They were a team; they’d agreed to raising Cleo together and, now that they were expecting their second, there wasn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do for her and their happiness. Just as he thought to express this, he opened his mouth only for different words to escape, “I want to talk about adopting Cleo, you know,  _legally_.” 

For a moment the world stopped on its axis and their lives stood still. Claire blinked once, twice, three times, and each time her lashes met it was the shutter of a camera capturing the elegance of the moment. The same swelling filled her heart and reminded her of the moment months before when she ran to him with tears marking their path on her ivory skin and was forced to tell him the terrifying news of their new pregnancy. But, as always, the longer she was able to focus on him, the better. Although that didn’t mean it took her longer to come up with the appropriate answer. “Yes.” Since they’d figured out their roles in each other’s life and realized (long before her second pregnancy happened) they were going to stick together, Claire had imagined the moment Cleo would call him ‘Daddy’ and, until recently, felt unnerved at the change. Until Clementine said it and, oddly enough, it felt like home. They hadn’t corrected the young girl — she knew Owen wasn’t her biological father — and knew that, if it felt right for her, it was meant to be. 

Claire reached over and traced the line of his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb as her own smile began to form. “Yes, yes, yes. I want to explain it to Clementine and have her opinion on the matter, but there would be nothing that could make me happier than for Cleo to have your last name.” 

“Well, there’s a slight problem, then…” Owen growled quietly and tried to keep a straight face. He slowly reached behind him and jammed his hand beneath the pillow to the box he’d been putting there every night before they went to sleep, waiting for the perfect morning to propose the question. Pulling it out, he held the crimson velvet box in the palm of his hand and nodded towards it. Her breath crimped at the peak of her throat, forcing her to cough before she could look up at him, her eyes glazing over with soft tears. “If Cleo is going to take my last name, I want you to have it, too. I know I’m not kneeling down, but I would lay down my life for you, Claire Elizabeth,” he breathed, locking his gaze to hers. “So please, say yes to being my wife? Say yes to spending the rest of our lives figuring out how to be parents and not completely screw our children up and scar them for the rest of their lives. Say yes to waking up to me every morning with that same dazzled look in your eye.”

* * *

 

As always, I owe everything to those of you who make up my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @the-clawen-pamphlet, @cometothedarkside-x, @wonderrbat, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @senatorrorgana, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all--the--dancers, @batmansgirlwonder, @dealingdreams, @dinosaurswowenough, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.


	5. Paint Blues and Hues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response for “I prefer blue: paint in your hair, you don't play 'fair'; our muses are painting some rooms in the house, a debate between which hue ensues, and ends in an all out paint-war” from the romancy drabble list (no longer accepting) requested by anonymous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is complete and total shit and for that I truly apologize. This past week i’ve been really down on my writing game (thanks to migraines, insomnia, and work) and so I had this half-way written and decided to finish it this morning so I could post. Also, I changed it a bit, so I’m sorry if it isn’t what you were hoping for!

“I don’t want blue, or pink, Owen! Why can’t we paint it neutral colors?” With both hands jammed on either hip and her growing belly nudged in the middle, Claire did her best to push forward the most of a threatening demeanor she could muster. It wasn’t easy to fake emotions, not with her fiancé staring her down, making childish faces where he had fingers wedged in his mouth and pulling wide only to stick his tongue out at her. Honestly, she had said yes to marrying a fool. Now they stood nearing the close of eight months of pregnancy and Claire was certainly feeling the urge to pummel the fool she wanted to choke. Owen, on the other hand, could not wrap his head around why Claire couldn’t let him decide the color of the nursery. 

Sure, she was carrying their child, but that was no trade off for stealing the decision of paint color! And _that_ reasoning was exactly why Claire continued to fight for her choice.

Owen rolled his eyes and left the room only to return moments later with a gallon of paint and two brushes cradled in a single hand. “I don’t understand why we’re fightin’ over paint color when we’re going to be out of this apartment next year.” He shot a quick glance in her direction before he plopped the supplies onto the floor in the middle of the cloth that was covering the entire expanse of the carpet; no way in hell were they going to be charged for paint stains. However, for as little time as they’d continue to spend in their apartment on the island, Owen wanted Norah to be content in the nursery. 

Norah Jane Grady. After months of going back and forth with the idea of unveiling the gender of their soon-to-be newborn, Claire couldn’t help but let the nightmares she’d once had while carrying Clementine invade her thoughts. She’d always imagined it happening differently, but the moment Robbie butted out of her life and the life of their child, she began to despise the idea of finding out; she hated the idea of having a child to begin with. It wasn’t until Owen had stepped in as a shoulder to lean on that she opened up to the idea of being a mother. He willingly coached her through lamaze classes and bought pregnancy and parenting books, falling asleep in the guest bedroom with pages dogeared and a multitude of books against his chest. Now, instead of being on the outside, he was involved in every aspect of this pregnancy.

Being involved meant advocating for a gender-reveal before the baby was born and, as always, Owen got his wish. Plus, it hadn’t hurt that he had a bit of help from Cleo who, without fail, asked every single day if she’d decided to find out yet. 

“We’re talking about the paint color because Norah deserves a calm, neutral colored room to sleep in every night. Don’t you want the best for our daughter?” Even if Claire knew it was a stretch, she also knew he would do anything for his girls, but guilting him into realization wasn’t exactly the route to take. “And if we don’t start painting, we’re going to have to stop sooner rather than later when Cleo needs picked up from school.” The guilt seemed to have worked, or Owen was just slowly realizing what she was doing. Either way, when he quieted and leaned over to pick up the paint brushes, Claire smiled. Finally, they were going with the color she wanted. While stuck in her daydream, Owen grabbed the screwdriver and began snapping the lid off, only to reveal a darker color than she’d imagined. 

“Grey? You want to paint the room grey?” The scoff that escaped her said enough; the dark color had been less than what she’d expected. How could they expect their newborn to sleep in a room that was dark? Yet, the moment she glanced up to see Owen simply staring at her, her thoughts filtered out and she paid attention to his expression. Clearly, he’d thought it through. The grey would fit perfectly with the neutral colors she’d bought to decorate the nursery with; the hues of blue, yellow, green and pink that were mixed into the crib liner would so easily mesh and incorporate the color of the morning sky before graced with the sun’s presence. “Okay,” her chest deflated with a quiet sigh as she stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his waist, “grey it is. Let’s just start, shall we?”

* * *

 

“Owen Michael Grady, I swear to God, you will lose complete privileges of any future children if you put that paint—” Claire’s shrieks could be heard for miles the moment the paintbrush touched the side of her face, streaking grey across her cheek. Instead of panicking — it was only paint, after all — she merely stepped across the room and dropped the brush into the bucket, but not before slipping her fingers across the bristles to pick up the extra paint. “You,” she started towards him but stopped and cocked her head to the side when she saw the way he’d been working on. How did she miss it? Etched into the paint was their future daughter’s name with a hint of pink swirled into the dark hue. 

“You little brat,” she shook her head slowly but even Claire couldn’t be mad at him. At the end of the day, Owen would forever do what he wanted within the reason that he knew exactly what would make her happy. 

Owen chuckled and shrugged his shoulders as the smug smile crossed his lips. “Well, my fiancée, I happen to know you better than you know yourself. And you can’t deny that for a single second, right?” Reaching for her, Owen wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek once she was in his arms. There would never be another way she would have his love: giving herself to him was the only way.

* * *

 

As always, I owe everything to those of you who make up my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @the-clawen-pamphlet, @cometothedarkside-x, @wonderrbat, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @senatorrorgana, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all--the--dancers, @batmansgirlwonder, @dealingdreams, @dinosaurswowenough, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.


	6. Wait for Me to Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Just some stupid angst my heart bled onto paper.) Before Claire and Owen make the move back to the states, he leaves for a month to scope out a place for them to live. While gone, Claire goes into labor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m serious, my brain hates me when I’m sad. I studied psychology for five years and I have to realize why your brain (and heart) want to make your pain worse when you’re already feeling so down. It’s like someone kicking my (imaginary) puppy. It hurts. So, you’re welcome. Also, I skipped some things while writing this and I’m sorry.

Owen knew it had been a bad day when he came home only to find Claire curled on the couch, knees tucked to her chest, with the carton of ice-cream resting safely in the nest of a blanket that had previously been balled up and tucked near her arm. Her protruding stomach, the one who proved their little girl was healthy and growing held the remote tucked just beneath her breasts. He watched her quietly from the front door but only for a moment before she noticed him. 

“Owen? Is that you?” She strained to see around the corner as she clutched the various items to ensure none went rolling off the couch — or her stomach. When he didn’t answer her right away, Claire sank back into the cushions but paused the movie she’d been watching; a tear-jerker that was only making their impending separation set for the next morning that much harder. Sure, she knew it was for a good cause; they would never be able to find a home in the states another way, and it would give Owen time to spend with Maxine, something he’d meant to do for quite some time. But, no matter how many times she told herself she and Cleo would be fine, she still wasn’t believing her own mantra. “What’re you doing?”

“Hey,” he peered around the corner before closing the door behind him, kicking his boots off in one swift motion, cutting the time down that he’d be able to make it to the couch and closer to his fiancée. Hell, leaving would be the hardest thing he would ever do, especially since the separation anxiety was ever fresh and bone-deep, but it had to be done. Owen lowered himself onto the couch near her feet and picked her legs up to drape across his lap, both hands circling around her slightly-swollen ankles, a tell-all that she’d been on her feet for the majority of the day. 

Which he’d been against. 

Claire smiled up at him as her glossy eyes searched for his gaze, knowing that the familiar comfort he brought to the room would settle her aching nerves any moment. He had that effect on her, and the very first time it happened — years ago — she knew it would never vanish. He would forever be able to calm her with a simple look. It was the same as when she was in a room alone: the moment he stepped in and she saw him, everyone else drifted away. “Long day at work?” 

Owen shrugged and reached up to run a hand through his tousled, blonde locks, “the idea of leaving the girls is killing me. I know we agreed that it was for the best,” he reached over to rest his hand on her stomach, smiling when Norah jolted beneath his touch, “but it truthfully sucks to know that we’re leaving someplace we’ve called home.” Without preamble, Claire sat up to scoot closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. “I know, baby.” Even though she could barely think of a way to comfort him, Claire hoped that her presence would be enough. 

“Anyways,” he breathed, tipping his chin to press his lips against the crown of her head. The nights like these were the ones he committed to memory a thousand times over; the ones he wanted to remember when they were apart, either by choice or forced. “Tomorrow morning, Barry is taking me to the pier and I’ll be back just as soon as I find us our white-picket fence house.” Claire scowled and opened her mouth to disagree — and to put at stop to the white picket business just as he leaned in to kiss her, quieting her in an instant. He kissed her calmly, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip as if he were seeking the refuge only she could offer. His hand snaked into her hair and secured her lips to his, exhaling the air she breathed, sure that if they found themselves under water they’d make it out alive. 

“Maxine has already told me that if I don’t check in with you when I get to Texas I’ll be shot, and killed, so relax.” Even though it was the line she hated to hear, usually because he was the cause of the distress, Claire shrugged off the wordage for the sake of being close to him for the night. Yet, the time passed quicker than she would have ever wished for and soon she felt him lifting her into his arms to carry her into their bedroom, even as she woke up and demanded to be put on her own two feet.  “I can walk, you know. I’m pregnant, not immobilized.” But he wasn’t going to hear a single word of it. 

Once they were settled in bed, Owen tugged her closer with his arm wrapped around her waist and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, feeling her muscles ripple beneath his touch. She fit so perfectly against him as if they were two pieces cut from the same puzzle. It was a wonder what he could tell from her body language, but he wasn’t immune to it, either. Claire was the expert at reading him, always had been from the moment they met. “It’s not going to be as bad as you think, Claire. Honestly. I’ll be back before you know time even passed.” 

Which was a lie. She knew it was a lie, one that he had hoped would help to calm her. All she wanted, though, was to wish the time away or sleep until he was home, safe in her arms.

* * *

 

“But I don’t want to go to the park! I want Daddy to come home and take me to the park!” Clementine stomped each foot, one at a time until she threw herself to the floor, tears streaming down her small face, ruining the happiness she’d woken up to. However she felt, Claire wasn’t sure she could care; while their daughter was only concerned of going to the park, Claire had other items on her agenda. Like figuring out just how she was going to make the toddler happy. 

“Clementine Rae, pick yourself up off the floor and please pick out what you’re going to wear to the grocery store  _and_  the park.” God forbid she tell the miniature version of herself what she’d be wearing for the day. There were just some things that couldn’t be taught to their five year old. “Maybe Daddy will call today and you can say hi to Aunt—” The pain was blinding and felt like it was ripping her to shreds from the inside out. It couldn’t have been the sign of something good or healthy; something was terribly wrong. Her vision tunneled as she searched for Cleo and spotted her huddled beside the counter, holding onto the marble stone with knuckles as white as snow, her wild eyes telling of the fear she was witnessing. 

When she opened her mouth to speak nothing but a whimper of pain escaped, causing Cleo to scream for her. “Mommy, what’s happening?” Claire fell to her knees, reaching up to grasp the counter, ignoring her daughter’s tears. “Cleo, I need you to go get Mommy’s phone, please?” She peered up at her daughter to see her horrified expression and suddenly felt the pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach; they should’ve waited for Owen to fly to Texas to find a house, and they should’ve had a plan if this was going to happen. But no; they simply assumed that he’d be home to drive her to the small hospital they had on the island, one that usually saw minor scraps and headaches come through the door. Claire lowered her head to the cold tile floor, resisting the urge to cry out for Cleo.

The minutes between calling 911 and the moment they busted through the front door with a yellow stretcher seemed like a century, one in which Cleo stayed feet away from her, never once lifting her gaze from the floor where her mother’s water broke, not until the female paramedic led her by the hand, out of the apartment and into the elevator until they broke free into the open air. 

Once loaded into the ambulance, Claire reached out for Clementine’s hand and squeezed it gently, smiling at her. “I love you, baby girl. How about we go meet your new little sister?”

* * *

 

“You know how they are always saying that when your heart is connected to someone you can feel when they’re in pain?” Owen stared down at the ivory-colored blanket that covered his fiancée before he smoothed his hand to hers, watching the way her hand disappeared beneath his. He could feel the pain radiating from her and it broke his heart to not be able to do anything. He simply had to sit and watch his fiancée grimace with agony. “Well, since you’re asleep and not going to answer, then I’ll just continue with my story.” 

When Owen stepped off the plane early that same morning he knew something was wrong, and it didn’t take long to confirm that assumption when he called Claire’s phone ten times, only for Clementine to answer on the eleventh call. She sounded more frazzled than he had when Claire woke him up months earlier, in the middle of the night, begging him to feel their daughter moving inside her stomach. Owen found Maxine in the crowd of people and, instead of pulling his sister to his chest for a lung-crushing hug, he latched onto her hand, pulled her to the front of the airport and booked two tickets back to Costa Rica. 

“So, as I was saying, when I felt your contractions—”

“If you _felt_ my contractions, then tell me why this story doesn’t include you dropping to the floor of the plane, begging for mercy?” Her voice was soft and strangled with sleep, and when she opened her eyes to stare up at him, Claire tried to shift on the bed, smiling through the pain. “Is she beautiful?” 

From the threshold, Maxine laughed quietly and stepped into the room, one hand curled around Cleo’s, the other holding tightly to Norah. “Are you kidding me, Claire? She’s gorgeous. Do you want you meet your new baby girl?” Overcome with happiness, Cleo shook her hand free from her Aunt’s and ran to the side of the bed, getting ready to pounce just as Owen caught her. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, baby girl, you have to be careful for a little while, okay? Momma needs a few weeks to heal, so we’re going to have to be careful and be helpful, too. Do you think we can do that?” As he spoke, Cleo nodded slowly and settled for curling up in his lap, even if it was second best to being on the bed with her mom. 

Maxine crossed the threshold and to the bed, passing over the snugly-wrapped bundle to Claire, resting Norah in her arms before she sat on the edge of the bed. Maxine had never considered the idea of being a mother; it was such a foreign thought, but so was being an Aunt and caring more about two little girls than she ever thought possible. For now though she and Seth, her husband of three years, were fine without having children to raise. They would forever live vicariously through Owen and Claire. 

“Wait a second,” Owen leaned forward to lean against Claire’s side, watching as their little girl’s eyes fluttered open to meet their gaze. She was beautiful; everything he adored about Claire he could see in their daughter, right down to the tiny little freckle she had to the side of her nose, certainly a trait of Claire’s. “Jesus Christ, she’s beautiful.” And ridiculously small. He remembered just how small Cleo had been only minutes after her birth, when the nurse handed her over to Claire and she begged him to sit with her. Hell, Claire had not a single idea how to raise a child; she’d been the absentee aunt in her nephew’s lives for the first handful of years, and there was no way to reverse it. But, now that she had been making up for lost time, the years didn’t seem to matter so much. 

As Cleo leaned forward, wanting a peek of her sister, Owen pressed a kiss to her head. While he may have avoided the topic years before for the sake of denying himself happiness, it was when he had his most important girls within arm’s reach that it finally dawned on him. The family they had created was the highest love he’d ever felt in his entire life and at last, every piece of their puzzle was beginning to fall into place.

* * *

 

As always, I owe everything to those of you who make up my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @the-clawen-pamphlet, @cometothedarkside-x, @wonderrbat, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @senatorrorgana, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all--the--dancers, @batmansgirlwonder, @dealingdreams, @dinosaurswowenough, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.

 


End file.
